The Boy Who Would Be King
by bamftastik
Summary: The new king and queen of Ferelden have settled down to start their life together, start their family. A happy ending for all, yes? Or perhaps not…
1. Chapter 1

"Duncan!"

The boy skidded cross the stones, whirling to look back at her with a hand already on the gate. He was grinning, delicate features flushed with the excitement of finally being out of doors, of being allowed down to the yard. But there was something almost impish there, knowing and chiding. Still he was young, but old enough now to find her exasperating.

"Not to worry, Your Majesty." The houndsmaster, too, was watching her now. "The mabari like him just fine. He's got a way with them, you could say. Not that I'm surprised."

"Thank you, Adin."

Still Duncan watched her, bouncing on the balls of his feet, eagerness barely restrained. His hair was growing long now, her same brilliant, autumn gold. His eyes, though, bore nothing of her darkness. They were hazel sometimes, sometimes grey, but always flecked with shifting gold. Now they sparkled, pleading, excited. She had to laugh.

"Go on then."

He was through the gate in a flash, already bending to the old hound as she made her way down the broad stone steps. The dress was new, fine and pressed and properly binding, though it was the shoes that plagued her most. She thought of Leliana, then. How had the woman been able to stand it? But there would be no asking her now; her friend had left long ago. Again the realization came heavy, the taste still bitter after all these years. The time for adventuring had passed. She was queen now and she had guests to entertain.

The chuckle was whispered, but she could feel herself stiffening. He sat behind her, deep in the shadow of the steps, one leg resting across the low garden wall.

"A new dress, is it not?"

Turning to meet that piercing grin, she couldn't help but smirk. "It is." Her hands fluttered now, smoothing, shifting across the bodice. She would think she would be used to it, those openly appraising eyes, the wicked quirk of his brow.

At her obvious discomfort, the elf only laughed. "It is… flattering to be sure. But it does not suit you."

"Tell me about it." She moved stiffly, smoothing the skirts beneath her to sit beside him. "It's for the welcoming. The delegates from Orlais."

"Ahh."

They fell to silence, then, but there was something old here, something familiar. Of all of their companions, he was the only one who had stayed. She had wondered at that for a while, was sure that Alistair wondered still but… She shook her head.

In the pen, Duncan was offering a thick lamb bone to one of the younger pups, Master Adin hovering protectively at this shoulder. There were others, ranging about their business in the yard, guards, mages, Wardens. She had never wanted him to feel suffocated, never trapped, but there had never been a choice, really. He was the heir of Ferelden, possibly possessed of the darkspawn taint, his very birth a miracle. Six years now and he had shown no sign, but already she could see the attention, the protectiveness wearing on him. He wanted to be free, and that he could never be.

The bone looked overlarge in his hand, still so small, so slight for his age. As he darted near, the mabari lunged close, sweeping a long, wet tongue over the length of his face. Duncan fell to giggling and she could hear Zevran chuckling beside her.

At that the boy looked up, grin splitting to mirror the elf's. "Uncle Zev!"

Zevran was on his feet, gliding to lean elbows on the fence with an easy grace. She was left to struggle behind, pushing awkwardly to her feet, again smoothing the stiff and unyielding skirts.

"Do you want to try, Uncle Zev?"

Again he laughed, running an affectionate hand along the boy's cheek. "Ahh, but I have never been able to abide the smell of dog. This whole country smells of it, in fact."

"Not like – whatsit? – Amtiva?"

"_Antiva_. Yes, not like Antiva at all. But I suppose it is merely a matter of what we know."

"Master Adin says they like me. Says I'm good with them."

He smiled. "As was your mother."

She had reached them now, leaning a heavy hand against the fence. Maker, but it was hard to breathe in this thing.

Still Zev watched her, clearly amused, but there was a lingering stillness there now, a growing discomfort. He shook his head. "Ahh, but I would bore you with stories. Go. They wait for you."

Duncan offered her one more smile, almost a smirk, before bounding away. Zev watched him go, shoulders hunching against the fence with a bemused snort.

"He… likes you."

"And I him." There was something cold there, something strange. Still he wouldn't meet her eyes.

"I saw what you gave him." It had lay against his chest, beneath the folds of his nightshirt as she bent to tuck the covers round. Duncan had only smiled, showing her the delicate chain, the gemmed earring hanging there. She had seen it once before, once and only once.

"And you are angry, I suspect?"

"I–I'm not. I just…" She shook her head.

He turned to her then, stillness pooling behind those gold-flecked eyes, pointed features falling to familiar stiffness. "Then we will not speak of it."

There _was_ nothing to speak of, she had told herself that time and time again. And yet, now, these past few years… And still he had stayed, he who perhaps more than any other should have gone his way. Again, she opened her mouth, the familiar excuses refusing to come.

"Duncan!" The laugh boomed behind them, trailing down the stairs.

"Daddy!"

Alistair paused at the gate, laying a quick kiss upon her forehead. "You look… wow. Just… wow." Laughing still, he lifted her, twirling her round. That crooked smile, the wide brown eyes; she couldn't help but smile with him.

Setting her down, he nodded to the elf. "Still here, Zev?" It was an old joke, the mocking long since faded.

"Only until I am certain that you can go a week without stumbling into a poisoned blade."

"Well, I hear the Orlesians have brought a bard. You may well get your chance."

He leapt the gate easily, Duncan bounding into his arms. Any smiles that he had had for her, for the elf paled next to this. His father, his king. Her own smile came easy now. Alistair knelt unmindful of his new-polished armor, one of the hounds laying heavy, muddy paws against his chest. Still he kept one arm round Duncan's waist, encircling the small boy easily, the other giving the mabari a hearty scratch behind the ear.

Zev, too, followed her gaze, scowl softening into a familiar smirk. "Your Orlesians will arrive soon. And now you have two boys to wash, yes?" He straightened, making for the steps.

"Zev…"

"Worry, too, does not become you. See to your guests." With a parting bow, he was gone.

* * *

Cold fear, the dread twisting deeper than anything she had ever known. She had leaned heavy against the wall, the cold stone of the Arl's unfamiliar halls. Through Ostagar, the loss of the Wardens, the ever-looming Blight, countless battles in between… never had she let herself buckle, let herself cry. She had seen her entire family murdered, every servant, every knight, everyone with whom she had ever shared a smile butchered. Why then, did it feel like she was living it all again?

Had it been Morrigan's smile as the door fell shut? The echo of Riordan's words? She had found everything, more than she had ever dreamed, only to lose it again. Lose it unless… It was Alistair's face that had haunted her most, the terror behind his eyes as she explained the witch's plan, what he must do to save them both. And she had _begged_ him, begged him to trust her, begged him to do a million other things that now danced behind her eyes.

Just there, just behind the door, with _Morrigan_.

She had run then, steps echoing down the hallway, turning corner after corner, not truly knowing, not truly seeing. But she _had_ known, hadn't she? How else had she ended up there?

The door had opened slow, his eyes still fogged with sleep. But at the look on her face he had stiffened, the concern coming quick and staggering and real. She had had no words, had needed none. Zevran had drawn her close, hands working across her back, fluttering fingers wiping the tears from her eyes.

She had had no right, no right at all. Not after those words, the gift she had turned away. She was going to be queen, and the queen couldn't… But he had sensed it there, something greater, something deeper. There had been no protest.

He had held her eyes as she drew close, pressing him back, letting the door fall closed. He had—

"—Your Highness?"

She blinked, the smile coming too slow, too timid. The woman smiled up at her, the pile of strange curls shifted as she tilted her head.

"My apologies."

Still the woman smiled, the bow coming stiff. "I was only hoping to say how much I like your dress. It is of the spring style, no?"

No, yes, maybe… She straightened, feeling the flush fade away. "It is. Arrived only this afternoon."

"Lovely. Truly lovely." The duchess moved now to Alistair, seated beside her, Duncan resting stiffly on his knee.

Both had been hastily scrubbed, though there had been little cure for the boy's hair, wild as it seemed to be turning. They had thankfully explained this to him long ago, the reception of important guests becoming something of a game. Somehow, she expected it was much the same for Alistair.

But he met the woman's gaze with an easy smile, the nod of his head taking in the retinue of servants and chevaliers waiting just beyond. In this hall, everyone was welcome. She smiled.

"And your boy. He is beautiful."

Duncan needed no urging, his bow perhaps only a bit more clumsy than Alistair's. Otherwise, it was a perfect imitation. "Thank you, My Lady."

The woman grinned at that, stepping back as if to savor the image. "I had heard that it is… difficult for Grey Wardens to conceive, no? I would imagine it is more difficult with two such as yourselves." She looked to Alistair then, to the sudden stiffness there. "Ahh, forgive me, I meant no offense."

"The Maker has blessed us."

Bowing, the duchess blinked for her. "Yes, he truly is a marvel."

Marvelous indeed. And almost impossible, from what little the boy's namesake had told Alistair. But after all that they had been through, he had agreed that there was much they did not know. They had survived Ostagar, found a way to defeat the archdemon without falling to the taint, reunited a kingdom almost irreparably shattered. Duncan, perhaps, was their reward.

The night that she had told him there had been disbelief, of course, but it had been nothing to the smile spreading there. They had been trying, quite often and quite eagerly, but never had they expected it to happen so soon. Ferelden would have its heir and they would have thirty years of something like happiness.

Most of their companions had stayed for the birth, Leliana to recite the blessings, Wynne to probe the child for any sign of the taint. But one by one they had slipped away during that first year, leaving to find happy endings of their own. Only Zev, only Zev had stayed.

There had been another conversation, well before that time, back when she had been able to escape for nighttime walks amongst the castle gardens. He had found her there, again somehow knowing, somehow speaking the words before she could. It was a conversation that she had tried long to forget.

"We don't know that."

"Do we not?"

"It's… difficult, not impossible."

"For a Grey Warden to conceive, yes. For two…?"

"We don't know anything."

She had seen the anger there, the trembling stiffness of his arms, but the eyes had been even more unsettling, soft and tender and refusing to look away.

"Don't."

He had sat beside her on the bench, hands running soft across her arms, sliding up to knead her shoulders. Still, she turned away from that searching gaze. "It is true what they say. You are… radiant. But what does Alistair think?"

"He's… he's happy, I think."

"And you?"

She had sighed, pulling away to stand. Those hands had been too warm, the touch too familiar. "I'm… relieved, I think. This is… what we needed."

"Good."

"Good?"

"Then we will not speak of it again. Even if it… The child will be human. Ferelden will have its heir."

"Zev…"

He had held up a warning hand, shaking his head. "It is a… good thing. For you, for Alistair. Fortunate, yes? Let us not ruin that."

She had opened her mouth to protest, but he was gone then, returning to the shadows of the trees. And still he had stayed, lingering all these years, trapped in his own way.

"Your Highness? Forgive me, but you do not look well." There was true concern on the duchess' face.

Alistair, too, was watching her now, laying a warm and squeezing hand on her arm. She almost jumped at that, but there was no suspicion behind his eyes. He turned to the visitors then, voice becoming firm. "Forgive me, but I'm afraid we will need to cut this short—"

"—No, no don't. I… I am fine. See to our guests. But if the Lady will excuse me."

Again, the Orlesian woman bowed. "Of course, Your Highness."

Alistair, though, still held to her arm. His voice came whispered, uncaring of the company. "What is it? What's wrong?"

Catching the duchess' eye, she did her best to flush. "It is nothing… nothing for men to concern themselves with."

The other woman smirked. "Ahh."

"Oh. Oh right. Okay. Do you… err… need anything?"

It was her turn to give his arm a reassuring pat. "No, no I'll be fine. Just going to… lie down for a bit."

Duncan smiled up at her then, one strand of wild hair falling across those strange and shifting eyes. "It'll be okay, Mommy."

* * *

Again her steps seemed much too loud, the halls shifting and blurring. But this was different, the cold, the fear, the guilt of her own making. These rooms were strange, empty of the guests that they had once held, paths she hadn't dared tread in six long years. But there was no knock this time, no doubt, no waiting.

The door slammed back, rebounding against the wall, his head jerking up in surprise. He was naked to the waist, coiled on the bed with a tunic spread across his knees, a mending kit open before him. She should have been surprised at that, but he had told her before that he wouldn't trust his leathers to untrained hands. Now, though, he set it aside, coming slowly to his feet.

Why was she angry? How could she possibly be? And why here? Why now?

"Ahh, I knew that it had upset you."

She blinked.

"I will take it back from him. Explain… somehow."

"The earring? I'm not angry about the earring."

"Oh?" He quirked a brow. "Then why are you here?"

"I…"

He moved closer now, the strange designs marking his chest and arms undiminished, unfaded. She found herself following them lower, the memory stirring unbidden. He chuckled beneath his breath, gentle fingers tilting her chin to meet his eyes. The smile, so familiar… but different now, piercing. The gasp caught in her throat.

"Ahh. It has come to this, has it?"

"I… I wanted to say… that I'm sorry. I—"

"—Did what you thought best, yes. As you always have. And I have not forgotten how much I have benefited from this."

"But now…?"

"Now I have the life that you spared, my freedom from the Crows. I have had grand adventures. It is because of you that I have—"

"—Don't."

"Fine clothes and a roof over my head? As you wish."

"It's not funny. You shouldn't be… you could have left."

"As could you."

She sat heavy on the bed. Were these thoughts so strange? Had she not had them herself, more and more of late? Moments of desperate fear? She shook her head. "I see it… in him. The guards, the tutors, the mages… he deserves… more."

He did laugh then, sinking beside her. "Your son will be king of all Ferelden and still you find cause to complain."

"You know what I mean. There is something there that wants to be free… needs to be free."

"Perhaps there is more of your Alistair there than you think. Did he not make these very complaints?"

"He seems to be doing well enough."

"And so will Duncan. It is what he knows. It is an advantage."

"And there's nothing to it of… of blood?"

"You worry that he will start… assassinating the guests? Reciting horrible poetry?" The chuckle came deep. "No, you have raised him to be something more."

She blinked at that, the closest that either of them had come to speaking the words aloud. "It doesn't… bother you?"

"It cannot be helped."

"So you're just going to… stay? Trapped here?"

"'Trapped' is it?" There was something more there now, thickening behind his eyes. His hand still rested against her back, she realized, warm and tensing.

"You wouldn't have stayed, otherwise."

"Perhaps. Perhaps not. But you told me once that you valued my company. So here I am."

Still she couldn't look away, those eyes, that smile so familiar. It stirred something deeper, deeper than lust, deeper than fear. She found her hand moving to his face, trailing along the whorls there, tilting his head down to meet her own.

He blinked once, twice, understanding at last. "And where is Alistair?"

"With the Orlesians. He'll be quite a while I suspect."

"Oh?"

Her hand moved lower now, following the designs, feeling the warmth, the tension, spreading across his chest. "Does this coy thing work for you much?"

He grinned then, setting her head to spinning. "On the odd occasion, yes."


	2. Chapter 2

"Mmm, I'm so glad they're gone."

The chuckle came warm against her hair. Laying here, head burrowed against his chest, she couldn't help but agree. This was… perfect.

"How about – y'know – no more visitors for a while?"

Elissa laughed, pressing a lingering kiss across his still slick skin. The delegates had been with them for little over a week and this was the first time that they had truly had a moment to themselves. "It doesn't work like that. We'd be turning them away at the gate."

"Then turn them away." Alistair's arms encircled her easily, pulling her up to face him with an indignant squeak. Those lips were pouted, mocking, but there was a smile behind his eyes. "It's not fair."

She rubbed her nose against his. "No one said it would be."

"But we deserve… something." It passed dark across his face, that growing sternness that she had seen more and more of late. After a moment it slipped away, sudden as it had come, the decision made. "A trip. You, me, Duncan. We'll go to Highever, visit your brother." He traced a finger along her cheek. "I know how you miss it."

The smile came easy. "That would be… lovely. Really, it would." She lay a kiss against his chin, nestling in the softness of his few day's beard. "But my duty… our duty is here now."

He sank back against the pillows with a sigh. She could see it there; he had expected no less. But always it fell to her to speak the words, to be pragmatic, practical.

Still he smiled, pulling her again to rest against his chest. "Just… maybe we can hold them off for a few days?" His hand stroked her hair. "And I know, I know… but you look as though you could use a rest."

She stiffened, hoped he didn't notice.

Cupping her cheek, he tilted her eyes to meet his. "You're amazing, you're strong, bane of darkspawn and Orlesians alike. But you just seem… quiet lately… exhausted."

She squeezed her eyes shut, burying her face against him as her arms strained round to pull him close. So. He had noticed. Distracted, yes. Tired, of course. And still he worried for her.

Running her fingers across his belly, she sighed. So strong, so pale, so… different. Had it not been just that afternoon that she had traced those hands across another… She shook her head. But still she could see that grin, thick and playful. There she could lay, no words, no promises, asking nothing. And those eyes… eyes that she had come to know better than her own.

The knock came timid, her head snapping up. Alistair, too, had started, more for her than for the sound, running a soothing hand along her back.

"Come."

Nora bowed low, turning her eyes from the bed as Alistair tugged the blankets to his chin. But it was to her that the nurse looked, the flushing apology clear. "M'lord, M'lady. I-I am sorry. Another nightmare. He is asking for his mother."

"Thank you, Nora. Just give me a moment to dress."

She slipped from beneath the blankets as the door fell shut, making quick for the wardrobe. There were nightdresses here, but her hand hesitated, selecting instead a simple gown of pale blue. She could feel Alistair's eyes on her back.

"Where are you going?"

Pulling the dress over her head, she cinched the waist, piling her hair into a hasty knot. "He may need… milk... something to settle him."

"Send someone for it."

She turned, sitting beside him on the bed. There was no anger there, no suspicion, only that ever-present worry.

"I'm just… awake. I need to walk. Perhaps I'll take him to the gardens."

"Do you want me to come?"

She smiled soft, stroking his chest as she pressed him back against the pillows. Always it had been she who went, she who Duncan asked for. Bending low, she lay a gentle kiss on his forehead. "I'll take care of it."

Still she could feel his eyes on her as she slipped through the door, wide and wondering still.

Duncan's room was just around the bend from their own. Nora slept in the outer chamber, looking up sheepishly from her narrow bed. Elissa smiled, reassuring, before slipping through the door.

He sat against the headboard, knees hugged to his chest, but he unfolded at the sight of her, grin splitting wide. "Momma!" Even now there was light there, a coiled eagerness that set her cheeks to warming.

Sitting, she pulled him close, tiny legs curling across her lap. She stroked his hair, burying soothing whispers there. He trembled, but still the smile held.

"Hush. It's all right now."

Nestling his head against her chest, he whimpered.

"It was only a dream."

"Dragons." The word came murmured, muffled.

Dragons again? Cupping his chin, she brought his eyes to meet her own. "Hush now. There are no more dragons."

"Because you killed them? You and daddy?"

The smile came twisted. "That's right."

He burrowed against her, whimpering still, tiny arms straining to reach round. Again she stroked him, rocking now. "Hush."

"M'lady!"

The door swung open, Nora lost behind the hulking figure of the man there. Alvric. One of the guards.

"My Lady. A Visitor."

"I'm sorry! I-I couldn't stop him! He just—"

"—It's all right, Nora." Setting Duncan back against the pillows, she whirled on the guardsman. "Alvric. What is the meaning of this?"

"My Lady. A visitor. She waits in the grand hall." Still he stood stiff, too stiff, the words somehow too flat.

She stepped close, but the man did not blink. At the wave of her hand, he only intoned the words again.

Nora gasped. "Bewitched, My Lady?"

Bewitched indeed.

"She waits in the grand hall."

Of course she did.

"Nora, get Alistair. Get everyone." She should tell the woman to stay, to bar the door and keep Duncan inside. But there would be no protection here, not from this. She scooped him into her arms.

Still the nurse stared wide eyed, blinking from her to the stiff and unmoving guard. "Nora, go. Alvric, come with me."

The hallways seemed to blur, winding past in a fog of simmering heat. Anger, yes, but the quiet seemed to thicken as they approached the hall. Alvric, at least, had kept silent, pushing aside the door with a jerking bow.

They had entered from the side, just below the dais. Away the room stretched, cavernous and empty now, the balconies sending long and twisted shadows fleeing from the sudden light. The figure was deeply hooded, staring up at the twin thrones with an unseen but unmistakable sneer.

Elissa had to laugh. "Well, isn't this properly dramatic."

"I did not come here for your amusement." Cold as she remembered, the voice was still brisk, still biting. Lowering the hood, she smirked, pouting, pointed features twisting. "'Tis not a social call."

"Oh no? Here I thought we might have a hug. Braid each other's hair, perhaps."

"I see title has done nothing to diminish your… charm."

Alvric staggered then, hand coming to his head with a rumbling groan. "My… My Lady?"

"It's all right, Alvric. Just watch the door." Still she did not break the other woman's gaze.

Morrigan's eyes narrowed, the threat understood.

Stalking closer now, Elissa nodded toward the man. "I see you've learned some new tricks."

The witch only quirked a brow, eyes trailing openly across her gown. "As have you." They came to Duncan at last, his tiny fingers still curled round her own. Now, now they narrowed sharper still. "And what is this?"

She scooped him up, one arm bracing round his waist. The other… the other she would keep free.

Duncan, though, watched the stranger, unafraid, curious. But there was no welcome for his smile.

"This is Duncan. My son."

"Yes, I can see that."

The door crashed open, Alvric stumbling out of the way.

"Morrigan." He had donned his armor and quickly, shoulders heaving massive beneath his panting breaths. Behind him waited a contingent of guards, already moving to ring them round. But the hand on her arm was gentle, squeezing protectively.

The other woman only straightened, her smile hungry, wicked. "Alistair."

His grip tightened painfully, the growl coming deep in his throat. Duncan, though, was reaching for him now, eyes widening at the confusion. "Daddy?"

He softened instantly, taking him from her arms to poke a playful finger against his nose. Still, his eyes did not leave Morrigan. "Did the _mean_… _old_… witch scare you?"

The boy grinned, shaking his head.

Again Morrigan's eyes narrowed, but that gaze was locked now to Elissa's own.

"Morrigan." The word was a whispered hiss, his steps coming light from the door beyond the witch's shoulder. Zevran slipped round, folding his arms to lean against one of the banisters.

Slowly her smile spread, eyes piercing now. "New tricks indeed."

"What do you want, Morrigan?" The nerve was struck; there was no hiding it.

Smirking still, she set to pacing. "Want?" Her eyes roamed to Duncan, calmed in Alistair's arms. "Only what I was promised."

Elissa turned to the guards then, waving them back into the hallway. Alistair blinked at that but she only shook her head. "And _what_ were you promised?"

"We had a deal, dear Warden. I would give you your lives and you would give me a child. A child with the soul of an old god." Her hand made a cutting motion, the click hissing between her teeth. The shadow was small, hooded as she had been, detaching itself from the deeper darkness beneath the balconies.

It stopped beside her, tiny fingers straining hesitantly upward. The witch stiffened, taking the hand in hers with a heavy sigh.

As the hood fell back, Elissa could feel the breath catch in her throat. There was no mistaking those wide, brown eyes, the wayward strands of unruly hair, the half-smile coming timid, innocent. But it was Morrigan that she watched now, awkward, stiff and somehow… bemused. It was true; the ritual had been a success.

She felt him falter beside her, lowering Duncan gently to the ground. He knelt with him, holding him still, looking up at her now. There was shock, guilt, fear, but beneath it all a sense of… pleading. He was asking her permission.

She couldn't help but smile, couldn't help but nod.

He turned to the boy then, crouching still. "…Hi."

Back he skidded, clutching at his mother's skirts, her sigh coming tired.

"What's… what's your name?"

"His name is Zazikel."

Alistair blinked, scowling up at Morrigan. "_Zazikel?_"

"'Tis a name befitting a god."

"God. Right." He blinked at the boy, but there was no diminishing the wonder there.

Zev had stepped round, slipping to stand at her shoulder, his smile almost amused. "He certainly does—"

"—Look like his _father_, yes." Morrigan turned that smirk to him now.

The sudden stiffness was almost imperceptible, but still he held her gaze, cold, impassive.

"So. He's… I mean… the ritual was…" Alistair had straightened, flushing again, unable to meet the witch's eyes.

"He is not actually."

His head snapped up. "What?"

"He is _not_ a god. He has shown no signs." Her snort was bitter. "Other than an unholy obsession with cheese."

Alistair smirked. "Nothing wrong with cheese."

"So the ritual… failed." Elissa stepped forward now, straightening to meet the witch's eyes. "And yet we live. But what is it that you want?"

Again her eyes roamed low, peering round. "It was a… curious thing. Years of waiting, years of wondering… but now, now I think I have my answer." Her eyes snapped back to Elissa's. "Tell me, how old is the child?"

She blinked. "What?"

"The _child_." Morrigan was pacing again, hands clasped behind her back. "Your… boy. When was he conceived?"

She could feel her face heating, feel Alistair moving to stand beside her.

Morrigan only shook her head. "If you were already with child when the archdemon fell…"

His hand came tight against her arm. "That is none of your business."

"Is it now? You were together before the battle." She scowled, eyes barely flickering away. "Quite often, as I recall. Is it really so impossible?"

"We didn't… didn't think…"

"No, obviously you did not. But neither did I. From what I had heard of Grey Wardens…" The laugh came bitter. "'Tis a cruel twist, is it not?" Her eyes roamed again, holding now just over Elissa's shoulder.

Still Alistair was trembling in disbelief, her own head spinning wild.

The whisper, though, came slithering hard. "Duncan has shown no signs."

Morrigan rounded full on the assassin now. "And you would know what to look for? Even I am not sure. But I have… uncovered something… a ritual… a way to be certain."

"No more rituals!"

This, at last, sent her staggering back, Zazikel burying a wail against her skirts.

Alistair paused then, the frown slipping sheepish. He reached out a hesitant hand, scowling as the boy turned away.

Morrigan's own hand had slipped down, unthinking, to rest against his hair. There was something sneering there - more so than usual - something defensive. "Oh? As I recall, you did not find the last one so terribly… unpleasant."

He loomed over her now, each word coming gritted, pained. "Leave. Now."

Shrugging round, she ignored him. "It will not harm them. I will test both boys to be sure."

"Why? Why would we let you do this?"

The scowl turned on her now. "Oh yes, stumble about in the dark until the pit opens up beneath you. Gentle the boy, keep him here until he pulls the very stone down around your heads. 'Tis no concern of mine." Folding her arms, she turned away.

Just like old times, then. "Morrigan…"

"No! No! We're not actually considering this!" Alistair's hand fell again against her arm. But she looked to Duncan then, wide eyed and small, so small. There was nothing there, nothing to suggest… It could not be possible. And still he blinked up at them, confused but somehow knowing, somehow understanding that they were speaking of him. So small. So alone now.

The arms encircled him before she could think to move. Zev lifted him easily, something of the boy's smile returning as he gripped onto the elf's shoulder. She tried to give him a grateful smile, but his eyes were for Morrigan, one hand stroking idly through Duncan's hair. "Perhaps it would be better… to know."

"No!"

But Elissa turned, the words coming heavy. "It won't… hurt?"

Again, Morrigan scowled, eyes rising slowly to meet her own. "Not him, at least."

* * *

He crouched against the stone, fitting his back to the waiting damp of the corner. An old storeroom, they had said, buried deep in the bowels of the castle. By the smell, though, he would guess that its history was far less… mundane. But that would have been before Alistair's time, before _her_ time.

A space had been cleared at the room's center, three of the Circle mages sprinkling their powders cross the stones under Morrigan's direction. The location had been of her choosing, of course, though he suspected it was as much for dramatic effect as for necessity. He almost had to laugh at that. Ahh, but we are what we are.

She must have felt his eyes then, the glance coming furtive as her back stiffened. Yes, let her remember what _he_ was.

Had there been some way to argue with the witch, Elissa would have tried it. Dark rituals in darker places were no way to calm a child. The boys stood together now, the larger, at least, looking almost unafraid. But growing up under his mother's tender ministrations, one could only imagine the horrors he had seen. Duncan seemed so small beside him, so pale, the shadow of the walls reaching long to wrap him round.

Morrigan was there then, moving them roughly into place, those wide, gold-flecked eyes peering round her skirts to meet his own. Holding that gaze, he might have shuddered, but Zevran only smiled. It was mirrored there, tight-lipped and afraid.

He felt the weight shift beside him and above, the sigh coming heavy as Alistair followed his gaze. The king raised his hand as if to wave, fingers curling hesitant as his scowl deepened. He leaned close, eyes on Morrigan's back.

"Thank you. For being here."

"Mmm?"

"Really. I mean, if this… if she does anything…"

"I will not hesitate, you have my word." Still he did not look up, still he could not break that gaze.

Alistair, though, sagged with relief. "She's evil, obviously, but it… it's _Morrigan_."

"You are asking if I would have any compunctions about killing a former… _traveling companion_?" The slight was thin, distracted.

"Right… yeah."

Again, she grabbed Duncan's arm, fingers dimpling the flesh as he positioned him just so. The words came flat, cold. "Trust me, I would not."

Elissa was watching them, eyes narrowing at his scowl. He tried to soften it, tried to smile for her, but she only shook her head.

Alistair was moving then, breaking the gaze. His arms wrapped round her waist, pulling her back to lean against his chest as he nestled his face against her shoulder. Words passed there, close, comforting. He felt the scowl twist again before he could stop it, her eyes coming again to his, holding there.

The mages were moving now, standing at the intersections of their lyrium-etched lines. Morrigan moved through the spaces in between, eyes falling closed as she stood before the boys. Her head sunk low then, chin falling to rest against her chest as the words came slithering strange.

One by one the others mirrored her, jolted as if from sleep, whatever trepidation they had at following the apostate falling away beneath those rising tones.

Magic he had seen, but save the faint stirring of the powders, this seemed… quiet. There should be… something more, should there not?

Zazikel had slipped his arm through Duncan's, bending to whisper words of encouragement beneath his crooked grin. Somehow, though, it seemed to work. The smaller boy straightened, staring up and the swaying witch with a thin-lipped scowl. Impatient – even haughty – and brave, so brave. Zevran smirked.

He could not say how long it lasted, that strange silence, the stillness heavy beneath those long-unuttered words. It was Morrigan who moved first, rubbing a hand cross the back of her neck as she shook her head.

Nothing. There had been nothing.

He felt himself sag, bracing unthinking against the wall. Elissa was moving, one hand wrapping hard round Morrigan's arm.

The witch turned slow, blinking unfocused as she collapsed.

He was on his feet then, throat tightening, but there were no words, no air. It seemed to pull inward, the very stone shuddering, coalescing to break in a piercing scream.

Duncan had bent double, curling to his knees, tiny fingers knotting, tearing through his hair. And still it rose, that keening pulse, his back arching in heaving waves. One of the walls cracked, rent from floor to ceiling, broken stone scattering.

Elissa had fallen, Morrigan's weight heavy cross her lap, still unmoving, still unseeing.

The shields came up in flares of green and blue and gold. The mages. One of the men cried out, but still his hands worked, the air thickening, buffeting, burning round the boy.

Throwing back his head, Duncan twisted, rising, straining. The eyes focused then, seeming to find him even through the whirling air, radiating pupiless and searing. Zevran could feel himself falling, sinking, half blind beneath those eyes. But never, never could he look away.

The light of all the world.


	3. Chapter 3

He sank into the chair, head falling into his hands.

Still she stood a moment, gazing up at him, the image seeming to waver beneath the empty, yawning shadows. Her husband, her king. But still the tears would not come.

At the other woman's approach, she spun, the sob biting.

Her words had been true, her ritual a success, but there was no triumph in the witch's gaze. She had roused slowly, shrugging off the attention of the Circle mages, but still she looked exhausted. And for once she knew enough to hold her tongue.

Alistair, though, raised his head, the words coming flat and cold. "What. Did you. Do?"

Defensiveness stirred, but still she looked tired… defeated. Morrigan shook her head. "I did nothing."

"Yeah? Everything was fine, _fine_, before you came."

"Was it?" Something of her old smirk had returned, eyes flitting to Elissa.

But Alistair had subsided, head falling back against the chair as he slouched lower still. His eyes were pinched shut, lips twisting beneath the words. "What… what do we do now?"

"Your mages have him in hand for the moment, keeping him in the Fade. Though that is a task that I do not envy them." Something seemed to stiffen behind her eyes. "And this hold will not last long."

Alistair grimaced, but still his eyes would not open.

"Take him."

"What?"

She felt the words come shuddering, but the witch's surprise only seemed to strengthen her resolve. "Take him. It's what you wanted."

"What?" Alistair was on his feet then, rocking unsteady.

"Oh, a fine plan. 'Twas my original intention, in fact. But I cannot."

"What do you mean 'cannot'? You wanted to raise a god. You can… control him."

"If raised since birth, perhaps." She shook her head. "But from what I have just seen… There is also the matter of blood. It provides a certain… leverage. And, sadly, this the child and I do not share."

"Blood magic."

"In its way, perhaps. But, for whatever reason…" The scowl there now was clear. "…the god chose you."

She could remember it then, high atop Fort Drakon, the battlements crumbling around them, the dead… so many dead. As that terrible light had broken, Morrigan had thrown back her arms. Morrigan had laughed.

But there had been no glory in that moment. Elissa could remember picking herself up off the ground, broken, bloodied, her arm horribly twisted. And the god had chosen her.

There had been gentle hands there, helping her to her feet as they watched Alistair wrench his blade from the creature's skull. But that touch had lingered, something behind the elf's eyes too searching, too concerned. She had shrugged him off.

And now he was gone, she realized. He had been there during the ritual, crouching uneasy in the corner. But then Duncan… She felt the sob welling as she turned round. She hadn't seen what became of him, hadn't thought to… Her eyes searched the shadows, but still there was no sign of him.

Morrigan was watching her, something of the bitterness fading beneath her curiosity.

"Blood magic, then." Her head snapped up, eyes locking to those of the witch. "Use it. Take me."

Alistair was there then, rushing down the steps to lay a heavy hand on her arm. "Elissa!"

"No." She turned to look up at him, fingers twining over him. "Remember Connor? Isolde explained it to me. When she… when she offered herself. And if a mother's blood is what's needed now…" Again, she turned to Morrigan. "Do it. Enter the Fade and drive it out."

The laugh came whispered, bitter. "You forget. 'Tis not in the Fade. The boy is the god. The god is the boy. This is no mere demon."

"Then we go to the Circle." Alistair's arm wrapped round her waist now, squeezing painfully.

"Oh yes, your _Circle_. Have they seen many gods, I wonder? Those who can barely hold back the demons within themselves?"

"If anyone can help, they can."

"Was that not three of their best, then? Barely holding a child between them?"

Elissa blinked up at her. "Then what… what can we do?"

Morrigan only held her gaze. There was nothing there, no triumph, no remorse.

Alistair pushed away, sudden, rough. "No! No! You can't actually…" She was silent still, but he turned to her in horror. "You're not… you can't believe anything she says!"

"I have said nothing."

"Oh no? This all started when you showed up, _right_ when you showed up."

"And I am as disappointed about that fact as you are."

Elissa's voice came whispered, hushed. "She has no reason to lie to us."

"Um… because it's _Morrigan_? For all we know, this is exactly what she wants. Maybe revenge for… for…"

The witch's smirk should have bothered her, should have rankled, but she only shook her head.

Alistair subsided, turning his eyes away. "It's just… she's never…"

"She saved our lives."

His eyes rose slowly, widening as they locked to hers. "And look where that's gotten us."

Morrigan sighed heavy, holding up a warning hand. "This is no quarrel that I wish to be a part of. Here is what I propose: I will return to your mages, do… what I can. We have the night, I believe." She looked to Elissa, then, holding her gaze beneath lowered brows. "In the meantime… do what you must."

As the witch turned away, she felt it. Alistair stood beside her, hand fluttering against her arm, looming hot and trembling. But this was something more, prickling along her spine, stirring in the darkened balcony above. This, this was why she hadn't faltered. It held her still, that gaze, that warmth, and through it all that fear. She felt him as he slipped away, the hall now cold and empty.

* * *

Leaning back against the wall, she squeezed her eyes shut. Still she could see Alistair, hand slipping through hers, drawing her eyes from the dark places. The walk to their rooms had been silent, each step heavier than the last, but always there had been his hand, warm, clinging, hers. Even sinking to the bed, it had been some time before either had spoken.

And the words had not been what she had expected. "Where… where is Zazikel?" His head had lay against her lap, one hand stroking easy through his hair. It had stopped though, her surprise clear.

"With Nora. Why?"

Rolling onto his back, Alistair had sighed. "I know… I know it's Duncan that we have to worry about…" His shook his head, sitting to curl his knees to his chest. "But… where does _he_ fit into all of this? Even, even Morrigan…" He had turned away then, lips twisting in anger.

She could only lay a hand on his arm.

"I… I did that. I made a bastard. And left him with _her_."

"No. You did… you did what I asked. You saved us."

His eyes had darted to hers, narrowing almost imperceptibly as he turned away. How long had he resented her? How much did he resent her now?

Something must have shown in her expression, though, for he had taken her in his arms, resting his chin against her forehead. "I-I'm sorry. For what I said in the hall." Pulling back, he cupped a hand against her cheek. "This, this is what's important. This is what's gotten us through before."

She leaned heavy against his shoulder, her sigh coming muffled there. "I… I have to go."

"What?"

"I have to… check on Duncan."

His arms had loosened, allowing her to pull away. "Right, you're right, we should—"

"—I'll go."

There had been hurt there, blinking confused.

"I want to talk to Morrigan again. Alone." He would know that look, the hint of the way things used to be. Let him think she had a plan, any sort of plan at all.

He had shaken his head, not daring enough to hope. "Okay."

And with that she had left him, wide eyes and wondering still.

* * *

Leaning now, she opened her eyes. She had not gone… had not dared to make that journey to the basements. Not alone. Strangely enough, it was Morrigan's words that came back to her now. _Do what you must._ Cruel, they had seemed, but she could remember the look behind those eyes. Morrigan. Asking for mercy, asking for another.

She had Alistair, a mother's righteous tears. No one should have to suffer this silently.

He didn't look up as she slipped through the door, lying flat on his back to watch the shadows play across the ceiling. She had always wondered at that; golden haired and golden skinned, those shifting golden eyes… and yet darkness always seemed to cloak him easily.

Elissa sat beside him on the bed, his head turning slowly to pillow against his arm. It returned, then, those eyes flaring gold to white, those delicate features twisting. She blinked once, twice. The image faded, but still her breath would not come.

Zev was sitting now, wrapping her round, pulling her close. At last she fell, tears buried against the unyielding hardness of his chest, fingers tracing over the familiar whorls there. He stroked her hair, wordless and almost trembling, the gasp coming hot as her fingers turned to claws. Lower they moved, his breath escaping in a thickened hiss, her lips finding his, biting, needing, pulling.

But his hands were on her arms now, insistent fingers dimpling the flesh, pushing her away. He held her there, something flickering across those eyes, something pleading, something like fear. It hardened quick, the laugh bitter, his smirk almost stern. "No."

Closer still she pushed, ignoring the pain of the restraining hands. He winced, letting them fall, pulling her again to curl helpless against his shoulder.

There should be words here, something to be done, said, some sort of comfort. But they would find none.

Turning to look up at him, her lips moved silent, tongue running hesitant across her lips. "Poison." The very word felt a betrayal, a final blow.

Again he winced, turning his face away. "It would not work."

She blinked. "What?"

His arms wrapped round, drawing her closer still. "She came to me. Only moments before yourself."

The cold stirred sinking. "Who?"

"Morrigan."

"Why?"

He buried his lips against her hair. There was something quivering there, something angry. His sigh came heavy. "She seemed to think that I would be – what was her word? – _'reasonable'_. More so than you, than your Alistair." The snort was bitter. "And I would agree, under normal circumstances. But she assumed…"

Elissa's arms strained round, pulling him close as she could. But the words choked, the throaty chuckle stirring against her hair.

She pulled back, looking at him now, steadying her gaze. It was only slowly that he raised his eyes.

"She knows what I am, sought to appeal to it. A matter of practicality, she said."

"_'Practicality'_?" Cruel, even for Morrigan.

Again, he turned away. "She knew."

Elissa sighed. "Yes, obviously. Which just makes it all the more—"

"—No. Not that." Still he would not look at her. "She _knew_. Knew that I would… see her point." Now, now those eyes came round. "She knew that it was nothing I have not done before."

She had pressed him about it only once. So much of his past had been openly shared but, save Rinna, any talk of guilt or innocence had been vague at best. What was it that he had said?

He was watching her, reading her even now. "Some people just need assass—"

Her hand jerked back, the slap ringing hollow.

There was shock there as he turned, tongue snaking along his broken lip, but so too was there that old emptiness, that bitter smirk.

"Don't. Don't do that."

"Do what?"

"That, _this_. It's not you."

"Is it not?" He grabbed her now, pinning her against the bed beneath him. "Is this not what is needed? What you have wanted all along?" Still the blood welled beneath his lip, the taste coming thick and bitter as he pressed his lips to hers. She struggled, biting hard, his head snapping back with a gasp.

It broke there, his brows knitting together as he moved away, letting the hair fall across his eyes. She lay back, breathing heavy, tasting him still. But there was nothing beyond the pain.

"Poison will not work."

It took a moment for the words to reach her, for anything to reach her. "What?"

"Morrigan. She… explained something of it. It's… the blood." He rested his chin on his knees, curling further inward to peer from beneath his hair. "There will be nothing gentle in this."

Elissa, though, shook her head. "Deathroot extract." Her hand trailed against his arm, but he jerked away. "Just enough to… sleep through the night."

"Alistair." The word was flat, cold.

"He would never allow it."

"He is a better man than I."

She blinked at that. "Not better, just… different." Again she reached out and again he stiffened, but her hand slipped instead beneath the pillow, closing round the short blade that he kept hidden there.

Pulling it close, she pressed it to her chest. "I will… take care of it."

There might have been relief behind those eyes, but still he could not allow himself even that. His hand fell across her, across the blade, across her breast. Even as he looked away, the grip tightened.

* * *

Again she felt her hands clench, closing now around the pair of cups, the weight of the blade at her belt accusing, heavy. It threatened to drag her down entire, but so too could she be strong, so too could she harden herself. Always, always it had fallen to her. Straightening one last time, Elissa pushed through the door.

Alistair looked up. The blankets had been thrown aside, his arms clasped behind his back as he paced. There was relief there but, at the sight of the cups, his eyes narrowed.

Setting them on the bedside table, she sank against the pillows, patting the space beside her.

"Did you see him? Morrigan?"

Right. Morrigan. She shook her head. "She was… resting. But the mages…" Her eyes rose slowly. "We have the night."

"And what is that?"

"Something to calm our nerves."

"If it's anything _she_ brewed—"

"—Here." She placed one of the cups in his hand, raising it to his nose. "It arrived two weeks ago. I… was saving it. Wanted to surprise you."

Still his sniff was suspicious, the thick liquid dark and heavy and ever so slightly… off. It was a stink he would remember, a stink that she had needed.

The grin was small, bemused. "Oghren."

"Sent three casks from Orzammar. Apparently he's still at it."

"But won't this get us—"

"—Sodding pissed?" She did her best to grin.

Alistair's eyes, though, only widened, meeting hers over the rim. "Is that… right? I mean, should we…?"

Leaning against his shoulder, she tilted the cup to his lips. "You would rather we pass the night… like this? There is not _enough_ ale for what we have to face."

He scowled at that, tilting back his head to drain the cup in a single pull. Already he was sinking, slouching back amongst the pillows with a crooked grin. "I can think of other ways to… pass the…" Recognition flared then, eyes snapping to hers even as the lids fell heavy. The cup slipped from his fingers to clatter across the floor.

She could feel her fingers knotting against the blankets, the scream welling as she turned away. But she buried it, steeled herself, laying a trembling kiss against his forehead. "I'm sorry."

The door opened slow, but she could not look away, could not seem to get warm. Turning she saw him, etched against the deeper shadows of the hall, expressionless still.

But those brows drew low as she approached, the stiffness almost breaking as she fell against his chest. Again his arms wrapped round, eyes locked to the figure sprawled across the bed. "Come."

He moved with ease along the halls, each step seeming to find the familiar spaces in between the light. She remembered once what he had told her, the laugh coming thick as he had mocked her attempts at "stealth." It did not fit, he had said. Hers was the strength of the battlefield; let the enemy see her, let the enemy tremble. But what good would that do her now?

Still there were no words as they found their way to those hidden steps. He paused then, unwilling to meet her eyes even his fingers twined through hers. This place was old, dark, cold, but still his touch was warm.

One of the mages sat beyond the door, leaning heavy, chin resting against his chest. But his eyelids flickered, features twisting, twitching, straining. His head snapped up as they approached.

"My… My Lady?"

"Varien."

"What-what are you?"

"I wish to see my son."

His eyes flickered, realization dawning, the assassin's purpose there assumed. She could feel Zevran stiffen, hand slipping from hers as he turned away. Always they assumed.

She pushed through the door. Still it flared, the thick air, all the light drawn inward toward those strange and flickering shields. The women looked up, blinking at her, at Varien standing now at her back.

"Leave us."

"My Lady…" The mage sighed heavy, but there was an apology there, a stilling pity.

"Leave us."

They did, the women bowing as they slipped through the door. Now, now they were alone.

Someone had brought blankets, a pillow. Duncan lay curled within that circle, almost peaceful beneath the fading lights. So often had she seen him this way, so often had she watched him. Suddenly the stone, the dark, the damp didn't seem so strange. She knelt there, skirts scraping through the powders, the weight at her belt dragging lower still.

He stirred almost instantly, blinking up at her with tired, golden eyes. He smiled now. "Momma?"

"I'm here." She pulled him to her chest, heaving against the too-thick air, shuddering, choking, her very breath stolen away.

But he was peering up at her, so small, so calm, lips pulling into a quivering smile. "I dreamed I was a dragon."

Trembling fingers swept aside that hair, so pale, so wild. "I know."

Her hand fumbled, tugging at her belt, the blade falling heavy to the stones. Duncan started at that, stiffening to stare vacant toward the ceiling. The whisper was hard, deep. "They wanted to hurt me."

"No one's… no one's going to hurt you."

He went rigid, bucking against her, back twisting pained.

"Elissa."

She barely heard the whisper.

"Elissa!"

Again Duncan looked to her, tiny fingers coming hard against her wrist. His eyes… white. So white.

Turning from that glare, she slid back, scattering the powders, groping for the blade. She pressed it to her chest, rocking back on her knees, but still her hand trembled, still her fingers slipped.

Duncan was rising now, pulled to his feet as though by unseen strings, the glare rising, quivering. This was new light, different light, nothing to the gentle colors of the mage's shields. Shadow seemed to thicken at its edges, everything, nothing, pulled inexorably inward. But she, she could not move.

She felt him beside her, rising stiff, fingers knotting through her own. The blade he pulled away, moving toward the light with slow and heavy steps. She could see his shoulders heaving, the thin cloth there billowing, one hand snaking up to tame his hair.

Duncan seemed to pause there, hanging still, those eyes searing, burning, but calming now. His head twisted curious.

Zevran stiffened, eyes falling closed, breath coming in shuddering gasps. One hand traced along the boy's cheek, the delicate lines so pale, so bare. It slipped lower now, his eyes opening as he pulled free the chain, the tiny gem that had rested beneath the boy's tunic.

Duncan blinked at that, looking up with a sudden sigh. "Uncle Zev?"

He bent low, laying a lingering kiss against the boy's forehead. But those lips were twisted, eyes pinching shut. He pulled him close then, crushing him against his chest, shoulders heaving as he choked once more. But the blade struck true, flashing almost unseen between them, dropping to clatter across the stones as the red began to pool at his feet.

Zevran caught him as he fell, lowering him gently, reverently to the floor. Still it spilled, so much, so much for such a tiny boy. But he covered him entire, pressing him close, rocking there amidst the spreading dark.

The light was gone now, shadow returning to where it had been, where it had always been.

He rose slow, laying the boy back with trembling hands. Pausing to look down at her, his gaze grew distant; shuddering there, he turned away.

She didn't see him go, couldn't see him, couldn't speak. There were no words, no need. As he slipped beyond that place, beyond those halls, out into the night, she knew that she would not see him again.


End file.
